


A Bitter Brew

by Buggirl



Series: Resolve from Regret [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles from various prompts on Blackwall. I think a lot about his life before he joined the inquisition, both before and after 'the incident'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bitter Brew

The froth spilt over the lip of the tankard as he took his first swig. That first mouthful at the end of the day was as always the most bitter. Despite the physical hard work, the sweat and the ache of the muscles from the days labour, it never tasted as good as he expected it would.

He knew why. The second and third tankards weren’t much better. His immunity to the effects of alcohol was wearing off over time, and he wondered if he’d reach a level where it did not matter how many he had. He hoped he’d be dead before then, but then, even a shitty death would be too good for him.

He looked up to the maid at the bar and pointed at the dented mug in front of him. She nodded and bought another over. 

She placed it in front of him and picked up the empty tankard. “You look like a sort to do a lady a favour.” She said. “And maybe before you see too many of those.”

He looked wearily up and around, he was the only one in the tavern but he wasn’t interested in carrying out favours, even for a pretty maid.

“There will be a round on the house for it.” She smiled. 

The smile looked genuine, unlike the many fake ones he had seen far too many times before. “What is it my lovely?” He responded warmly.

“mmph. That’s not an overfamiliar term I’ve heard in a while.” She crossed her arms.

He shrugged, scratched the few days growth on his face and took another draught of the fresh brew in front of him.

“Two rounds then.” She sighed.

He looked up to her and nodded draining the tankard before standing.

“I have a barrel to move out back and my Harold isn’t here. Would you be a love and move it under the bar for me?”

“Anything for a lady.”

The bar maid placed a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows, before pointing to out the back. “Anything for a drink you mean.” She snorted unpleasantly. “Last room on the right.”

He disappeared down the corridor. It smelt of stale beer and leathered hide. 

“Don’t roll it!” Came a shout.

He grunted. The barrel was large, and he had difficulty manoeuvring it out but the straw on the ground made it easier to slide. The bar maid pointed to under the bar. “Thankyou.”

He brushed his hands on his dirty tunic and went back to his seat. As the bar maid poured his ale several men walked in through the door. Three men who looked well-armed. Swords, shields and armour that could take a hit or two. They moved to table several over from his.

A fourth man, followed, not with them, and also dressed in heavy armour and carrying a shield with a crest to dark to make out even in the light of the tavern. He walked by the three mercenaries and sat in the far corner his back to the wall.

“Ale, bread and meat.” One of the three men shouted to the bar maid. The fourth man remained quiet, watching.

The pretty bar maid placed a two tankards in front of him. She shrugged “Looks like I’ll be busy before you get the fifth.”

He looked over at the men. They were laughing loudly, talking about the men they had just laid flat and wondering how big a payment they’d get. 

Mercenaries. Swordsells. Killing for coin.

For coin.

He raised the tankard to his mouth and stopped, staring at the amber liquid before downing it in one hit.

It still tasted bitter


End file.
